


How To Get Laid The Melinda May Way.

by Max72



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Speed Dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5396507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Max72/pseuds/Max72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Melinda volunteers Director Coulson for a Speed Dating Charity Gala. He knows without doubt it's a bad idea, he has no social skills and even less interest! He also has no idea just who was going to be there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Get Laid The Melinda May Way.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alafaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alafaye/gifts).



> Prompt  
> ~~~~~
> 
> "You aren't what I asked Santa for."  
> "Is that good or bad?"
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to my beta, you know who you are ;)

Phil eyes the people moving past and around him suspiciously. The hustle and bustle of a hotel lobby seems loud and overcrowded after leaving the S.H.I.E.L.D base.

“Tell me again why I'm doing this. No, strike that,” he holds up a finger, “why are you making me do this?” he says, the complaint clear in his voice, to May, who is currently straightening his tie for the third time after he has tugged it aside in irritation.

“PR, networking and it’s for charity," she rifles off, not for the first time. 

“Yeah, see, about that, aren't I supposed to be, you know, a shadowy figure in the background? Not announcing myself as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D in front of a whole bunch of …” he waves his hand around dismissively. 

“Eligible singles?”

He’s caught sight of a number of the participants sporting the same badge he has irritatingly attached with a crocodile clip to his lapel, possibly causing untold damage to the fabric. “You think I haven't noticed they all seem to be male, May?”

“Bachelors then?” She smiles tightly. “Just as well I know you have no preference, isn't it?” She bends down and runs a cloth across his shoes. He steps back in disbelief. Any moment now she is likely to spit on it and rub at an imaginary spot on his cheek.

“Can I just go back to the 'I’m a spy and not supposed to be in the limelight?'”

“S.H.I.E.L.D is a legitimate organization now - maybe not out in the public eye, but you have been seen and caught on camera with the President on several occasions. You’re not exactly a secret anymore, Phil.” 

“I’m a threat, I could be putting all these people at risk," he tries hopefully.

“Which is why we generously offered to do the security,” she counters. “Might I add I had to work really hard at securing that - apparently another firm were very insistent that they did it.” Her eyes flick around, taking in all the agents currently on duty round the room, before appraising her boss again. 

“I still don’t,” he sighs, “this… it’s really not my type of thing.”

“Which is why you haven’t been laid since you - know - who?” She smirks, cocking her eyebrow. 

He simply stares back at her mocking.

“Stop worrying, it will be fine.”

“You’ve set me up at speed dating, that's... desperate!” he hisses quietly, trying not to make a scene. 

She laughs, “It’s not speed dating.” She rocks her head as if thinking and admits, “okay, it is speed dating, but these are New York’s most high powered unattached. You should be pleased you were invited.” 

He leans into May and says self consciously, “Exactly! Have you seen some of these guys? Most of them are half my age and have million-dollar smiles. I’m going to end up as the sad, unloved, still desperate one.” 

“So you have nothing to lose then.”

He tries for his best glare, but it must be getting a little old the amount it's been used already this evening.

“Why aren’t you doing it then?”

“Are you calling me desperate?”

“Ahh…” Her eyes narrow. He swallows, and backtracks, “No, of course not.”

“I’m not male either, so, Phil, my old friend,” she pulls the knot of his tie again, tight. “Stop whining.”

“But.”

“You can’t let the fundraising organizer down, so live with it. Think of all the good you will be doing.” 

He gives in. “What do I have to do?”

May smiles. It’s so easy. 

“You’ll be introduced,” she holds up her hand as he begins to protest yet again, “vaguely. Then you just have to sit down with each guy and have a chat.” 

“About what?”

She rolls her eyes, “Seriously?” 

“May,” he points out, “I have no social life. What the hell am I going to talk about, alien invasions?”

“Make it up. You’re a spy, Coulson, it's what you do for a living.” 

"I hate you." 

"I know," she agrees, looking anything but hurt. "Come on, let's go and join the others at our table."

……

“Who the hell agreed to this crap?”

“It's all about Public Relations, baby," Tony states as he pats the suit-clad Clint Barton, on his way through the group of Avengers to stand centre stage behind the draw curtains.

"Why me?" Clint grouses, clearly uncomfortable in his get-up as he pulls at the crotch of his pants yet again.

"Because you're the lucky boy who gets to represent the Avengers today."

"Why can't you be doing this?"

"I, my feathered friend, am no longer available for this sort of function -ask Pep," Tony says as he turns towards Clint and grabs each of Clint's cheeks, waggling the skin around like an adult to a child. "And you have the cutest little face, just made to make lots of money for your charity!"

Clint pulls his head back in disgust and growls. "You need to talk to your guys and tell them I'm not good at this sort of thing."

"Nah, you'll be fine," Stark waves his hand dismissively.

Bruce looks sympathetically at Clint.

"Steve would have made more money than me," Clint remarks and watches as Rogers’s eyes widen in fear.

Tony dramatically leans into Clint as if to whisper, even as his voice booms out at its normal level. "But Stevie, here, is a little shy for this - cute, no doubt, but shy."

Both Clint and Steve sigh.

"You look really nice, Clint." Bruce tries to keep the peace.

Clint gives him the slightest of smiles and turns less friendly eyes on Tony. "So who the hell are all these guys?" He just knows they aren’t going to be his usual beer and a game brigade.

Stark shrugs his shoulders. "New York's finest out and proud untethered. The rich and famous, executives, actors, celebrities, superheroes -” Stark turns a quirky eyebrow Clint’s way, “actually, I have no idea!”

"I expect, it's those who care about fundraising for charity, Clint," Steve says kindly.

"More like men who want to be 'seen' making money for good causes," Natasha says as she makes herself heard for the first time.

Clint turns his pleading eyes on her in the faint hope she will save him. Predictably, she just walks past him with a smirk on her face.

"I feel sick."

....

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen," the brash host yells while holding a microphone, and taking the centre of the stage in front of the curtains. The rest of the hall is set out with large round tables that are full of a mix of the middle aged and wealthy and the young, bash and wealthy. Coulson's table contains neither, especially on the wealth front but he is definitely middle aged and May - he is going nowhere near the those words with Melinda; the young and bash is taken up with Daisy, Hunter and Bobbi. Phil can't really pigeonhole Mack or Fitz and Simmons into any of those types. The young scientists smile hesitantly at the banter round the table, catching each other's eye and pretending to enjoy themselves about as much as Phil is himself. 

“Welcome to the first annual Batch-Date."

Phil turns to May and mouths, "Batch-Date," scrunching up his face to make it obvious what a bad name it is.

"We are here tonight on Christmas Eve, to raise as much money as possible for the four worthy charities selected this evening.” A round of applause rings out. "You can donate in a number of fun ways. You will all see the state-of-the-art tablets in the middle of your tables, kindly donated by Stark industries: these will all be auctioned off at the end of the evening. You can place bets through them all night on various things, such as who you think will be the most compatible partners as you watch them interact.”

May rolls her eyes as Coulson mutters, “Cattle auction,” under his breath.

“We will also be revealing little tidbits of information about our gentlemen this evening, that they have kindly supplied. All you need to do is place a bet on who you think these reveals belong to. The winning bets will be randomly chosen and the winner can choose which of our charities to donate the cash to."

"I didn't write anything down," Phil says puzzled.

"I did it for you." 

"What!"

"I did it for national security." 

"So help me, Melinda, when I get out of here..." 

"You'll have a date," Daisy screams across the table, "it's so cool! Isn’t this cool?” She turns to Mack sitting next to her. “It’s so exciting!" 

Phil shakes his head looking across the table. They hadn't been here long, how can she be drunk already?

A young man comes from the side of the stage and whispers something into the announcer's ear, who says, "Excuse me a moment," his eyes wildly flying to the side of the stage. He quickly places the microphone in the kid's hand, who looks down at it and then towards the audience, shifting from sneaker to sneaker and looking like a rabbit caught in headlights. The host has stormed over to the side and is remonstrating, his arms swinging around wildly pointing at the seated tables to jabbing over the head of the unfortunate assistant that is obviously giving him news he doesn't want to hear.

"Look," May says patiently, now wishing she hadn't made this a team event, as Daisy giggles uncontrollably yet again. Her thoughts had been to make the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D look a little more... human, than he had of late. What she didn't want to do was embarrass him. May knows that she is often seen as the reserved one but as young agents she'd often had to force him into going out - he was always so serious, and she would persuade him to try new things. Really, this was no different - of late the pressures of his job had left him more isolated than ever. Besides, years ago, he’d usually end up enjoying himself. "You just have to put up with this thing. If you meet someone then fine, you can arrange a dinner or something, it's no big deal. If not we can all just go to our room and then tomorrow we can go home again, but please try to enjoy yourself."

Phil smirks and May sighs. She knows that face, it means he’s found a loophole. "So what you're saying is grin and bear it, just fake it through the evening then go home." 

"Come now, Sir,” Jemma speaks up, “you're a very attractive man, anyone here would be..." Her voice falters as she notices all the men round the table staring at her open-mouthed. "Well, he is," she mutters, grateful when both Daisy and Bobbi nod their heads in agreement. "Definitely," Bobbi adds, rolling her eyes at the face Hunter makes. Daisy goes further of course, with an inappropriate remark, along with hand gestures and facial expressions. "He's got buns of steel." The menfolk turn incredulous looks on her. Coulson turns his eyes to Mack and signs to his glass making a cut off gesture and indicating Daisy. It seems they are on the same wavelength at least as he nods back. Coulson can't help but feel some relief that he won't have to do the holding hair back duty tonight.

 

Thankfully the mini-disaster at the side of the stage seems to be ending as the man steps back into the limelight, but not before he is clearly heard by the majority of the guest on their side of the hall saying, "Well find them, you idiot, they can't have gone far." He turns an embarrassed smile towards his audience as he realizes it was heard by a good proportion of them. 

 

"I'm sorry," the man says as he reaches the centre again, fixing a smile across his face. He then notices the kid still standing next to him with the microphone and grabs it out of his hand, gesturing him off stage as he hesitates nervously. He coughs and holds the microphone up. "I'm terribly sorry about that ladies and gentleman, just a slight technical problem but," his smile, if humanly possible (and that isn't a flippant remark when you have table of S.H.I.E.L.D agents in the room), widens and he continues in his best game-show over-enthusiastic voice, "I'm sure we are all ready to get this show on the road." The audience bursts into claps and cheers as Coulson quirks an eyebrow at a deadpan May. 

"So without delay, gentlemen, if I could ask the participants to stand so I can introduce you to each other and the rest of the room."

“Hey, come on, boss, up you jump,” Daisy yells across the table enthusiastically, clapping her hands.

Phil reluctantly pushes his chair out makes it to his feet, turning to face the stage, his back to his table, as they whistle and cheer behind him He's never wished more for the days when his team consisted of just May and him or Barton and him.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” The man looks down at his tablet before announcing several names, most of which look like sharply dressed models. Phil hates his life. “Phillip Coulson. Phillip is the head of …”

…..

“Clint, you need to come out.” Bruce taps gently against the stall door. 

"I don't think I can." 

"Come on, Bird Brain, it's time to man up," Stark unhelpfully says, banging on the cubicle door. Bruce turns to Stark holding his hands up in exasperation. Stark hunches his shoulders in a ‘who me’ expression and mouths, 'what?'

"Clint, you're going to be fine, you're very sociable, and you only have to talk to them, nothing else."

The lock clicks and all four Avengers who have somehow managed to squeeze themselves into the small but nevertheless well appointed cloakroom sigh. Clint pokes his head out, not entirely willing to open the gap up fully just yet.

“I just gotta talk?" He says tentatively.

“Sure, no one expects you to hook up with any one in there," Bruce explains calmly.

Tony frowns, "What exactly did you think..." He doesn't finish as Bruce glares at him.

"Really?" Clint looks uncertainly at Bruce.

"Of course. It's not 'Porn yourself for charity'," Tony says flippantly until Clint turns big wide eyes on him and Tony can only swallow. 

"Shut up, Tony." Steve's temper starts to fray.

Tony glares at Steve and then turns back to Clint. “Seriously Clint, no pressure, okay?”

"Just mark the card 'No' to each person," Natasha says as she grabs his arm and pulls him fully out into the open. Clint does his best not to whimper. 

"Clint, if you really don't want to do it, nobody is going to force you.” Bruce says gently.

Clint looks round the room, as everybody nods, even Stark.

"I don't."

The Avenger’s heads drop as one. 

"But... I will," he says, more confident now the decision is made in his own head. "It's a fundraiser, and like you said, I just have to talk. I can do that."

"You might want to leave a little bit of space for your partners to answer," Natasha smirks. Clint sticks out his tongue at her, only because he knows he can get it back in before she reaches the knife hidden in her bra strap, just!

"Well done, Clint, I'm proud of you." Bruce pats him on the shoulder and pulls a face at Tony who is pretending to gag.

The main door swings open violently, and the men don't jump and the Black Widow doesn't crouch into a fighting position as the door bangs back onto the wall loudly - at least, they would all deny it anyway.

"Oh Jeez, thank god, you guys are here," the voice says from the open doorway, then hollers down the corridor," I found them!" The voice belongs to a lanky looking teenager. "Ah guys, they ah... need you back on stage, they're introducing every one now?"

Everyone turns their gaze towards Clint, who says positively, "Okay, let's do this." He can't say he minds as several hands clap him on the back. He smiles and files out next to the kid that has found them. Natasha takes the shoulder of the kid on the other side, Steve and Tony are ahead of them, and Bruce behind.

"So tell me, kid, what are the other guys like in this thing?" Clint asks, to make conversation, and keep his nerves at bay - yeah, he can do the talking thing!

The kid, who can't be more than eighteen, gives Clint the once-over. "I might have sneaked a peek at the files on them. I haven't seen them in the flesh, so to speak. "The boy has a shit-eating grin on his face, and looks immensely pleased with himself. Clint's not sure which part of looking at an open folder on your bosses' table is likely to impress a bunch of former S.H.I.E.L.D Agents and current Avengers, but he doesn't burst the kid's bubble. He's on a roll as he pulls a face, "Honestly, they sound mostly like brash, overconfident assholes."

Clint instantly takes more of a shine to the spunky teenager, especially when he notices the glance that accompanies that statement, directed to the back of Stark's head. When Clint looks over to Natasha she has enough of a satisfying grin on her face to say she picked it up as well.

The kid isn't finished with his assessment, though. "There is a couple that, holy shit, got some balls turning up here and, you know... in the land of the dream boys." He rocks his head about from side to side. Clint really should stop the kid and make some statement about judging people but... He finds it quite refreshing to be talked to like a regular guy for once. "A few got potential."

"Really?" Clint can't keep the laughter out of his voice.

"Sure, there's the guy that spends most of his time in Africa helping out, something to do with water. There doesn't seem to be anything too 'up his own ass' about him. Not the best looker though."

"Right, I'll keep my eye out for him then."

“Good idea, looks aren't everything,” he says sagely. "Then there is Mr Mature Smoky Grey Eyes. He's hot, but I’ve always had a thing for older guys, you know.” He turns teen eyes on Clint, who wants to laugh at the wisdom he’s trying hard to portray. He notices the kid give him another look over. Clint really can't tell if he's impressed or not, he isn't going to ask and get his ego ripped to shreds by this vocal young man. It seems doubly wise when he says, "You're loads closer to his age anyway," Clint pretends not to hear Nat's chuckle from the other side of the kid, "he sounds a bit boring on paper, Director of something," and the kid gives a mock yawn, "probably not your type of guy anyway."

And no, Clint's not asking what his type might be, and he glares across at Nat to stop her asking too.

As they reach the stage Clint's not sure if it’s a kinda disappointment or relief that it's the end of the entertaining kid. Maybe best to get out before the youth tells him he’s old or got balls for even turning up!

There is a hoard of harassed-looking people who usher them into place this time - they obviously can't be trusted to stay still after their disappearing act. Tony visibly pulls himself up and plasters a smile across his face. Bruce’s concession to public displays is to do his jacket button up. Steve gets his hand ready to wave. Natasha … yeah, nothing.

Clint takes one last deep breath. He can do this, he can talk.

….

“Thank you, gentlemen, it's good to be able to put a name to a face, so to speak. In a moment I'm going to ask you all up to the stage to take your seats. But first," and the guy's excitement rolls off him in waves, "you may have noticed that we are an odd number tonight. I'm immensely pleased to be able to announce that the patron of one of the charities we are all here to fundraise for tonight has most generously agreed to take part. Not only that, but he has agreed to bring some of his friends along to watch. So it is my great pleasure to introduce the founder of the children’s charity Hawkeye, Mr Clint Barton, and his guests, The Avengers." The room predictably erupts with cheers and clapping, tables of people get to their feet as the curtains are pulled back to reveal the superheroes assembled there.

Coulson grabs the table behind him and none-too-gently hisses, "May!" 

May, for once in her life, has a look of panic on her face as she looks from the stage back up to Coulson, whose face is an open book of trepidation. "I didn't know, I swear!"

"I love the Avengers!” Daisy blurts out obliviously, but everyone has long since stopped listening to her drunken rambles.

"I didn't realise Barton was..." Hunters voice cuts through.

"Shut up," Bobbi interjects.

"But you were mar..." 

"Shut up, Lance." 

"But..."

She turns to face him exasperated, "His Bi, okay? Always has been."

"Oh... So..."

"Sir," Bobbi says desperately shutting out Hunters conversation. She picks up the tension like everyone else round the table apart from the young hacker, "surely they know you are alive by now? S.H.I.E.L.D isn't a secret anymore, and you have been in the spotlight recently!"

"Yes," he turns to glance back at Bobbi, "they know." He pulls a face. "Stark bombards me with colorful hate mail regularly, usually to try to hide the fact he's trying to hack into the systems."

Bobbi and Mack wince.

"Maybe, this is the opportunity to talk to them and clear the air," Jemma says sensibly, "or maybe not," she adds, as she looks up towards the stage. They all follow her gaze to see every Avenger with various states of outrage on their faces looking directly at them - well, at their boss to be precise. The knuckles of his hand that is still holding tightly to the table behind him turn white. 

"Stark's not going to..." May mumbles tightly.

"I hope not," Phil sounds worried through his heavily gritted teeth. He can only hope his pearly whites can take the pressure of the evening now being served up, or his dentist fees will be through the roof.

....

"Is that?" Steve says. The others glance towards Steve, whose stood himself right at the back of the pack, to catch the direction he's looking and... 

"Hmm."

"Shit."

"Coulson?"

"Looks like 'The Zombie Director' himself." 

Clint chances a glance over at Natasha, and for the first time all evening she gives him a sympathetic look back. He might just be about to have a panic attack when her hand grips his and pulls him back. He shouldn’t have agreed to this, he really shouldn’t, because ‘just talk’ has become ‘just talk to Coulson’, the man he thought, well, was at least his friend but who had deserted and deceived him.

"I've got some choice things to say to him," Tony says and takes a pace forward.

A piercing shriek fills the air as the microphone gives off feedback, and whatever scene Stark was about to do is interrupted. "Sorry! If I can ask the Avengers to go to their table at the front of the hall, and Hawkeye,” the host points, “if you could take a seat at the end table.”

....

The team watches as Stark hesitates just long enough for Steve to grab his arm and pull him away towards their own reserved table. He never turns his eyes away from Coulson.

Coulson has little choice now he's been introduced but to reluctantly drag his ageing, not-quite-whole-body up to the stage. As he sits down, he is only thankful that Clint’s table is one of his last. By the time he gets to him he might have come up with something to say - after all, this conversation has mulled around his brain so many times but, of course, now it’s time to talk he finds anything helpful has been sucked out and he’s running on empty. He can stand the condemnation of the other Avengers - he might not survive Natasha’s - but it’s Clint’s opinion that matters if he is honest with himself. 

By the time Phil is more than halfway through his tables, he frankly can’t really remember much about most of the men he's already seen. It's not their fault, he is damn sure they won't be remembering him apart from being sullen and uncommunicative. One of them had worked for WaterAid and represented the charity here tonight - he’d been interesting to listen to -, another had been a scientist and relatively easy to steer onto his own subject and leave Phil mostly out of the conversation, which suited him down to the ground. His concentration has gone to pot, his eyes keep wandering across to Barton. If he deliberately takes the seat that is always in view of the man, so what, he has always liked to have a clear line of sight to his assets. 

Just who the fuck is he kidding.

Phil catches Clint’s cold gaze back a few times. Initially he looks away, but as the night progresses he refuses to drop his eyes and they meet more than once in challenge. All this has the unfortunate result of reawakening all his old feelings for the attractive and talented, if quirky, archer.

“So!” The loudspeaker goes again, interrupting yet another perfectly good daydream about arms. “We have another fact for you folks to bet on. Remember, just tap in the number of the contestant you think this belongs to,” the host bellows out loud enough to make Phil jump. It makes his eyes snaps back to the man he is supposed to be concentrating on guiltily.

"Which one of our fabulous men tonight was a huge Captain America fan as a child and still owns a large amount of his collectables?"

Phil hears the unmissable shout of “Hah,” from Stark, but he refuses to look that way. He does make his displeasure visible to May who just smirks back. He fills his cheeks with air and slowly and loudly blows them out. His current 'date' smiles at him. He is by any standards good looking, not ridiculously young like some of the guys here and not full of his own self importance like an awful lot of the others.

"That you?" He nods his head towards the host.

"Yeah," Phil sighs and rubs his forehead.

He laughs. "So why did you let that little secret out into the light of day? You don’t look too comfortable with it now, but I guess you didn’t bargain on him being here in the flesh.”

Phil resists saying he already knows and instead goes with another truth. “I didn’t!"

“Oh," the guy nods in understanding, "you didn't write it?”

Phil nods back.

"Let me guess, your personal assistant helped out?” He has a nice laugh, Phil notices.

"Something like that.” He glances back over to the S.H.I.E.L.D table. They seem to be enjoying themselves, and May is still smirking.

"It explains a lot, actually."

Phil turns back to the man opposite him, raising an eyebrow in question.

"You've not taken your eyes off Barton down there all evening. I guess you’re a little nervous about meeting one of your idols?”

You don’t know how right you are, Phil thinks, but says,“Uh, yeah, probably.”

The bell rings out again and time is up for the current pairings, and as they both stand the man holds his hand out. Phil grabs it firmly with a smile of his own. This little tête-à-tête is probably the best conversation he’s had all evening.

"Goodbye, Fanboy Phil." 

A spark of shock and, well, flattery, goes through Phil when the other winks at him before moving on. Coulson looks at his screen, where a long line of ‘no’s sums up the evening, then he looks back at the retreating figure, who glances back with a smile. Phil’s eyes inevitably draw to Clint again, who is staring back murderously.

He dallies a moment over the boxes and then ticks 'no' once again.  
….

Clint’s head is so far out of the game, he’s not sure he could even shoot straight right now, which is seriously saying something, and all because of one man.

Phil Coulson, now Director of S.H.I.E.L.D, professional spy, one-time handler to Natasha and himself, and he was supposed to have been the liaison to the Avengers but he managed to get himself skewered on an Asgardian spear before that was a thing. No, that was a resumé of Phil Coulson, it told you nothing about the man himself, the man Clint had known. There had been a handful of people that had known that man and not the dick agent that played a different game depending on the audience. He has no idea if that wiki entry has changed much because the bastard has neglected to get back in touch after coming alive again. 

They, and by they, he meant Tony, had found out about the new Director a while ago, but not long enough to dampen down the jolt his appearance sent through him, and the disappointment. He looks fit and maybe, Clint will admit, a little older, but hell, with the responsibilities he carries around, wrinkles and grey hair are standard - anyway, Clint thinks it’s a good look on his former handler. 

It had taken Clint a long time to admit, and then only to Natasha, why Phil’s death had hit him so hard and then why his resurrection without any acknowledgement from the guy himself had left him disappointed and empty. He’d thought they were heading… before… Loki.

It was a regret, it always had been, he’d begun to think it always would be. 

Then S.H.I.E.L.D had stepped into the light again, being praised by the highest in the land. Clint would have laughed out loud at the symmetry of Phil Coulson being Director. There was no one better for the job. He would have laughed, if he hadn't been crying at the time.

Clint sits at his table as one after another of the wannabe suitors tries desperately not to gush and embarrass themselves in front of him or alternatively sits as cool as a cucumber, all suave good looks and quiffs. Which has never been his thing as his eyes meet Coulson's yet again, and he notices that his hair hasn't receded as much as he would have expected in the intervening years. He can see worry in Coulson’s glance.

Good!

Shit bag needs to worry.

It’s not gone unnoticed by him that Melinda is again by his side, and fuck, to add insult to injury, so is Bobbi. He dampens down on the touch of jealousy that the sight brings. It's not helped by the fact that May should have known and not him. Logically he knows it’s because he is an Avenger now and not S.H.I.E.L.D. Plus, Mel had been on the scene with Coulson before him and the easy camaraderie between the two had always sparked a little green eyed monster in him. It seems Coulson has made his choice. The disappointment leaves a nasty taste, even through his feelings of smoldering betrayal.

He smirks as he hears the Captain America question, and his eyes dart back to Phil. He reads embarrassment clearly on Coulson’s face - he has always prided himself on being one of the few that could read the man. He watches as he angrily glances back to his table and a smirking May. The small exchange tells Clint that none of this is Phil’s idea, which is a silly thought as nothing about this set up shouts a good night out for the man he knows - knew, he reminds himself.

Hill, when she had finally admitted she had known all along, had gone to great pains to point out that Coulson had changed, but she wouldn't let on why. 

Maybe it is true. As the bell rings again to signal another step closer to Clint getting out of here, he can’t help but notice the smiles and lingering handshake of Phil’s last guy, the way he tracks the guy as he moves away, and shit, the way he glances back. He is flirting with his... 

Fuck that!

The next guy Clint gets owns a chain of fitness centres - he’s a good advert for it too, all encased in an expensive suit. The guy, who introduces himself as Mark, thinks this all means they have something in common. To be fair, he seems like a good type of guy. When Clint looks over at the Avengers, Tony wriggles his eyebrows suggestively and Clint can't help but laugh at his antics. Mark unfortunately thinks Clint is laughing about something he’s said and tries the charm offensive all the more. 

As boredom sets in again he flicks his eyes wander across to Phil. The man for once isn't looking his way with a 'someone stole my puppy' look on his face - instead, his eyes are scanning the room. Clint has to smile: you obviously can't take the handler out of the Director. His initial surprise that May had allowed the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D into this environment of dangerous public displays had abated as he’d looked around earlier - he’d picked out each and every one of the agents round the room including the two that have sat opposite him and lied their way through. Clint had had a little fun with them. He’ll give it to May, the building is well and truly covered. 

….

 

It’s all too soon... and yet feels like it’s taken an eternity. As Phil finally settles himself in front of Clint and they stare at each other for the first time in years, everything blurs around them and time takes a pausing breath. They reach out and the music abruptly stops in Phil's head. Reality hits, And he swallows at the dark chasm that stretches across the table.

"Clint, it’s good to see you.” It’s so lame as an opening gambit, but one of them needs to say something, and Phil’s tongue feels like it’s twice the size in his mouth, and it’s about all he can get out.

Clint, of course, calls him on it. “It’s good to see me? Seriously, that’s what you’re starting with? You've been fucking us all over for years, and you first words are ‘good to see you’. What the fuck, Coulson!”

Phil looks down at the table top. The fingers on his right hand twitch. In times gone by he would have used the left hand, which is hiding under the table, to tap out a secret tattoo against his thigh, an outlet for his nerves, but he no longer gets the same comforting satisfaction with the too-heavy fingers.

"Nothing to say, Director?"

He looks directly at Clint, “Too much, but for what it’s worth, I'm sorry.”

"Yeah, for what it's worth," Clint almost sneers, "long time no see, Sir.”

“It's a long story, Clint, and I understand if you don’t want to hear me out.”

“Why should I?” 

Phil shakes his head in defeat. “I can’t really…” 

Clint sighs. "I owe you that much, I guess."

Phil's eyes widen a fraction. “No! You don't owe me anything, Clint, you never have."

Some of the anger seems to recede from the archers eyes. “What ya used to say - Talk to me, Sir,” Clint smirks, and Phil feels his own smile tug across his lips at the familiar words.

“It's a very long story."

"Give me the basics."

“Okay,” Phil says. Clint’s always liked to hear facts - bullet points were even better, and that’s how most of his reports showed up in Phil’s in-tray back in the days of Delta. This will sound like an episode of Star Trek but Clint’s more than experienced his own brand of the supernatural. "I was dead,” he starts, then feels bad as Clint squeezes his eyes just a fraction, which, in the spy world, is a wince. There is no hiding the wide-eyed stare as Phil continues with, "For five days. Fury brought me back with a drug that contained alien DNA. It was part of a project I had been working on before we were assigned to the Tesseract. I closed it down - it worked, but it had terrible side effects. Nick still saw fit to fill me up with it, though.” A trace of bitterness is still in his voice even after all of this time. “They performed..." He hesitates, this bit still troubles him, "brain surgery to wipe the memories of what they had done to me." Phil's getting to the stage were he can almost retell the tale without the urge to vomit. Must be a good sign, time really is a healer.

“They weren’t sure what would happen to me. As I said, previous results had been poor, patients...” Phil swallows. His memories are still a bit vague about the project, but he remembers enough. “Patients went mad.” His fingernails pick at the veneer of the table top. “Fury ordered me to not reveal myself. I can understand the reasons behind it, they needed to keep me secret just in case things went bad.” Phil smiles tightly. “I had no clue at the time about any of it, or that May was basically planted as a watchdog to keep an eye on my stability.”

He notices Clint send a glare in her direction. “Don’t." He waits till Clint looks at him. “It's not her fault, she has... she’s been good to me, Clint, seen me though some dark times, she’s had my back.”

....

Clint nods. If he’s honest, he has never quite gelled with Melinda ‘stoic’ May, which is kinda odd because he has with Natasha ‘silent but deadly’ Romanoff. Still, they'd always had a mutual understanding as far as Coulson was concerned, and it went along the lines of ‘Protect at all costs’. 

"Anyway," Phil continues passively, “HYDRA came along. Garrett, you remember him?"

"Sure, big mouthed asshole, you seemed to get on with him real well though." Clint watches as his former handler looks disappointed by the words. Clint hadn't really meant for them to sting, but they obviously do.

"Yes, well,” he falters for a second, “turns out he was no friend and had a particular interest in how I came back. He had a machine that pulled the memories from me.”

Clint feels like an asshole - betrayal is always hard to swallow, especially when it involves friends, he can’t help but think of Sitwell, him and Phil had always got on well too. “Sounds painful.”

“It’s,” Clint sees the tick in the corner of Coulson’s eye, “not pleasant.” The older man carries on, his voice softer than before. “Nick came back and asked me to take over, rebuild from the bottom up. I couldn't say no." He looks up, every bit that stalwart agent Clint had mocked years ago for knowing every rule ever written by the organization. "When S.H.I.E.L.D fell, I found out how much of my life had been dedicated to it. Maria wanted out, and …" he pauses for the first time, emotion overriding the facts. "May was all I had left for a lifetime of work. I couldn’t let it slip through my fingers.”

"Once you were Director, you could have come.” There is no hiding the touch of bitterness in Clint’s voice.

Phil nods, “Yes, I could, but you see, I discovered that resurrection really did come with some downsides.” He grimaces. “I started to… carve, symbols, whole walls with crazy patterns. It started to overwhelm me. I asked May… I gave her the word, permission to do what was ‘necessary’."

Clint sits back with a hiss. He knows what that means.

"You seem…okay now?”

Phil lips reveal the briefest of smiles. "Yes, we found a cure, sort of."

"Sort of?”

"It led us down another path, but that’s an even bigger tale.”

Clint whistles. “My, my, you have been busy, Director, and here you sit all whole and hearty.” Clint pulls a face at his choice of words – mentioning Phil's heart, after it had been literally ripped in two, is a bit close to the bone. He watches, slightly horrified by himself and his ability to hit two home runs in one sentence, add to that the fact that he hadn’t even noticed before, as Coulson lifts his other hand to the table top.

"Not quite so whole these days, I'm afraid,” and he smiles at Clint self-consciously.

"Shit, what happened?"

"See that big fella at my table?”

Clint looks across. “Yeah?”

“Axe.”

"Fuck, he cut your hand off!”

"It was that or turn to stone, so," Coulson weighs his hands out like a balancing scale, "you know, limited options.”

Humour, it's always been Phil's go-to place. Clint looks down at the hand and can't help but smile - he knows Coulson won't want sympathy. "Knowing you, boss, you got all the gadgets in that thing."

"Oh yeah,” he winks. 

Clint can't help but join in. He leans over the table and whispers, Can you undo a zip fly at fifty paces with magical magnetic fingers?”

“No, but it’s definitely something for future upgrade consideration. I can, however, take apart all kitchen appliances with a selection of drivers.”

“Don’t tell Tony, he’ll want one.”

“Don't tell Tony, but I think he might have designed this one!”

Clint laughs out loud - this is what he's missed, those oh-so-dry comebacks. They smile at each other a little too long, both of them taking in the other without the worry of being seen doing it anymore.

"I have missed you, Clint."

“I’ve always been here.”

“How long have you known?” 

Clint hears the ‘you could have found me too’ but doesn't want to respond. Instead he says, “Tony found out a while ago. He’s pretty pissed. Steve’s disappointed, of course, and let’s not go near Nat.”

Coulson looks down at the table sadly. "As time passed it just seemed to get harder and harder to reveal myself."

Clint nods - he can see that, he doesn't agree but he can understand it.

"What now?” Clint has to ask.

Coulson shakes his head. “It's not up to me, Clint. I can’t ask you for anything.”

The meaning is clear: Phil’s not talking about the Avengers, he’s talking about him. “If you did?" Clint can't help but asks softly.

Coulson turns his head to the side and Clint can see him close his eyes, holding them shut. The fingers on his real hand stretch, ball into a fist and stretch again as if subconsciously reaching out toward Clint’s. All the while, the hand stays perfectly still.

When his head turns back, Clint can see his eyes shine bright with emotion.

Phil’s answer, when it comes, is hoarse and hushed at he same time. "My feelings for you have never changed, Clint."

Clint pulls air into his lungs, loudly.

Their jobs had always put so many obstacles in their way, they had skirted around their feelings without the other having any real doubt they were mutual, and now...

Phil’s not looking at him, the table top suddenly very interesting, as he mumbles, “But… I have little to offer apart from complications, and your life has moved on, I understand that..."

"I think that’s up to me, isn't it?"

The words force Phil’s head up. He searches Clint’s face, his eyes darting around as if waiting for the killer blow to come.

"I don't understand, Clint, what are you..."

The bell rings out loud and they startle, both looking around as if their whereabouts is a surprise.

"Sir, you need to move on.” Someone says beside Phil, pulling at the sleeve of his jacket.

Clint recognizes it as their host - seems like a damn chaperone at the moment. Phil’s gaze is a little dazed as he gets to his feet slowly and practically gets a push toward his next table, all the while looking back at Clint.

The host bends down towards Clint and conspiratorially whispers, "Sorry about him, I guess he was a bit of an Avenger’s fan? I hope he wasn't too much of a pain?"

Clint waves him off, “Nah, he was fine.” He smiles reassuringly up at the man, then watches as his, thankfully, last guy sits down opposite him.

He turns towards Nat with eyes that feel too large in his own head as he thinks of his conversation with Phil. He sees her shake her head and roll her eyes as if she had heard the whole conversation between him and their former handler.

....

It would be fair to say that all the men standing in line on the stage have a look of relief that the night is over. It has been terminally long with very few bright spots. Phil is no exception. He finds himself at one end of the stage and Clint is way down at the other. They both sport the sort of fake smiles only hard training or insincerity can provoke. The Spy Guidebook to Looking Casual read something along the lines of “Hands should be stuffed into pant pockets, loosely, of course - you still need to be ready for combat. Jacket hung slightly open: weight should be distributed slightly more to one leg.” It came under the sub heading, “How to look friendly and open in a public space.”

It was a front. It was the S.H.I.E.L.D front.

A front that can blur reality over time, with its tendency to encroach more and more into what would be considered a normal life. When you reach Clint and Phil's age, ‘normal’ resembles one long fight in their line of work. Clint’s always been better at a normal life, he had many things outside of work. If Phil thinks about it, when he lost the last of his family his link to the real world diminished still further. Sadly now he calls home a secret base which is no more than a spy factory. No wonder Melinda forces him into evenings like this.

“So we just have one more bit of fun for this evening before the gentleman are given their date cards and that is to announce the pair that you the audience has deemed the more compatible couple.” There are a few half hearted wolf whistles from the floor, its been a long alcohol fuelled evening round the tables. “You have voted for…” and shit, they even had a drum roll. “Phillip Coulson and…” Phil’s head snaps round when he hears his name, “Greg Turner.” The Audience cheers and Phil wonders who the hell Greg Turner was, until he sees the guy that had shaken his hand and winked at him, lift his hand and look down the line with a smile at Phil. He also notices Clint look, without the warm smile. 

Each of the men are given a card with any potential dates and a number to ring if they want to pursue them. Phil just pushes his into his pants’ pocket without a look. He just wants to get off the stage and out of here, hopefully before Stark makes a scene. His table when he looks is minus Melinda, which is worrying on many levels, especially when he catches sight of her with her head flung back in laughter. She is standing with Natasha - they have managed to find themselves a little spot at the back of the room to talk. It doesn't bode well for Clint or himself. Phil wonders how long they have been there, especially when Natasha glances his way her head slides to one side and she nods, a touch of a smile on her face. He's breath catches in his throat at the gesture - it’s far more of an acceptance than he had expected.

When Phil finally arrives back at his table, Daisy immediately jumps on him with the questions.

"Did you get anyone? Did you get Greg? I voted for you and Greg you looked so cute.”

“I haven't looked.”

She stares at him, mouth agape.

“Why?"

“Why, what?” he says not really listening, but watching Melinda as starts to make her way back.

"Why haven't you looked?” Her face forms a terribly serious look, for someone so inebriated.

As May retakes her seat he can’t help but ask, “Nice chat?”

"Just setting a few things straight.”

"May, tell Coulson to look at his card,” Daisy whines.

May frowns at Daisy, but turns towards him. “Just look at the damn card and we might get out of here before I have to deal with tomorrow's headline reading, 'Stark KOs former colleague over his status!’”

Phil nearly chokes on the mouthful of champagne he's just taken and looks across to Clint's table where, sure enough, several of them, well Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner to be exact, seem to be trying to talk Stark down from storming over.

“Haha,” Daisy laughs uncontrollably before squeaking out, “that sounds like you’re in a love triangle!” She covers her mouth. "OMG, you’re not, are you?”

Phil sighs, watching Mack try to redirect her attention. He pulls out the empty card from his pocket, ready to leave the offending article on the table, but when he looks down there is a single name on the card - Clint Barton. He instantly looks across to see that Natasha has now rejoined their bickering group and Clint is holding out his card to show Natasha, a smile on his face.

He looks to his side at May who can clearly see the name. She gives him a tight smile and her hand comes up and grips his arm. He nods his head and they stand up together. May is the one that says, “We're going to call it a night, feel free to carry on."

Bobbi and Hunter sit back as if the night is only just beginning, while Fitz and Simmons look at each other and stand, relief clear that they can leave.

“Mack, you'll...” Coulson asks, looking at Daisy.

“Of course, Director."

He smiles, looks around one last time and places the card more carefully in his breast pocket.

"You all have your keys?" he asks, glad they have a suite of rooms in the hotel for the night.

"Yes, Dad,” a chorus comes back.

"Merry Christmas, everyone. Thanks for coming.”

He is just about to exit the ball room with May as he hears his name being called, Phil turns to the voice. He smiles, “Greg?”

Greg runs his hand through the back of his hair, it reminds him so much of Clint that he looks across to his table but no one's there. “Ah, look I was a little disappointed that you didn’t… I thought we had a little connection there. Anyway,” he smiles nervously, “look here’s my card, if you change your mind?” He shrugs his shoulders and turns away as soon as Phil has the card in his fingers. 

He looks down at it, there is no secret message or death threat written on it, it seems like Greg might just have genuinely been interested. 

He hands the card to May. Who sighs, “You’re hung up on Barton again aren’t you?”

Phil doesn’t answer just makes his way out to catch up with his young scientists.

 

He says goodnight to Fitz and Simmons at their doors and is about to do say the same to May as his phone starts to ring. Phil looks down at the number. It’s the one written on the card next to his heart.

"I need to take this.” He looks apologetically towards May.

She smiles. “Goodnight, Phil, and don't mess it up."

"I'll try not to,” he says, in a hurry to answer.

“Hello?" 

"You aren't what I asked Santa for.”

"Is that good or bad?” he asks curiously. 

There's a pause and Phil’s heart sinks.

“Oh, definitely good,” Phil can hear the smile in Clint’s voice. “Could I…” he hesitates on the line.

Phil fills the gap quickly, “Floor 9, Room 54."

"Okay ... okay… I’ll ... right.” And he can hear Clint's footsteps already on the move in the background.

"I'll see you in a bit," Phil says as he balances the phone on his shoulder to open his door and steps into his room, kicking the door shut behind him.

“I'm nearly there," Clint huffs out, clearly running up the stairs. A moment later there is a knock at his door.

Phil pulls it open again, laughing into the phone still at his ear. 

“Clint.”

“Phil.” Clint jokes back and leans his body against the frame of the door.

Coulson smiles. “Are we okay now?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Fuck no, we aren’t.”

“Oh.” He can’t hide the disappointment.

“What, you thought, one conversation and I forgive your ass for the shit you’ve pulled?”

“Then why...” Phil starts to ask.

“Because I learn by my mistakes.”

Phil frowns, “I don’t...”

Clint interrupts, “We wasted to much time before. I thought I'd ... we'd missed our chance at playing the endgame. I don’t want to do that again.”

Phil looks hopeful. “We can work through it?”

Clint nods. “I think so.” 

Phil’s smile is a little fragile, his body sags in the doorway as if his strings have been cut.

Clint reaches out from his leaning position and touches Phil’s collar, trailing his fingers down his chest. “Are you going to invite me in or have you already got Compatible Greg in there?” 

Phil completely ignores the comment, secretly pleased that Clint had noticed Greg noticing him, and asks, “What did you ask for?"

Clint looks puzzled.

"Santa."

"Oh," Clint's smile glints, deliciously dangerous, as he says in a suggestive tone, "to always be prepared.” He drags his other hand out and shows Phil his bounty.

“Champagne!” 

“And... two glasses.”

“Well,” Phil looks down at his watch, “It is Christmas.”

Clint licks his lips salaciously. 

Phil swallows convulsively. “You better come in then,” he says, moving away from the door to let him in. He stops him with a hand on his arm, as he passes the threshold, “Hold on,” He turns into the room and shouts, “Greg can you move over, I seem to have got lucky twice this evening.” 

Clint shakes his head, laughing and says, “You’re a dick, Coulson,” before pressing a chastened kiss to the man’s lips and stepping into the room.

Phil briefly looks down the corridor before closing the door with a smile.


End file.
